


Learning To Love

by RIShan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blind Stiles, Brain Surgery, Brain tumor, Character Death, Consensual Underage Sex, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Helpful Derek, Hurt/Comfort, Its Name Is Ebony, M/M, No Hale Fire, Past Chemotherapy, Repressed Memories, Self-Conscious Derek, Selfish Derek, Sexual Content, Student Stiles, Teacher Derek Hale, Teacher-Student Relationship, Werewolves exist, stiles has a dog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:58:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4351526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RIShan/pseuds/RIShan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every step he takes is surrounded by a darkness he can’t escape because it was always there until it was too late.  Sometimes he dreams of the vibrant colors he can never see again but can only touch and feel.  He’s built a wall around himself– forced others away from him, forced himself to forget.  But now he has to start anew, a new place, a new home with different people.  In the ever consuming darkness he finds hope, a small light that teaches him new things he never thought before.  Now the world isn’t so dark or cold, now he knows he can learn to love because he can’t fall asleep, not when reality is finally better than his dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A New Town

**Author's Note:**

> Couldn't help myself, I simply had too.

Chapter One: A New Town

"How do you feel?" The sheriff asks concerned.

The hand around his arm tightens as they continue walking but no response comes from beside the sheriff.  The car ride was long but arriving was the least of their worries.  They had to stop by the school and only then will they head to their new home to unpack. 

"Watch your step," he adds as they reach the small flight of concrete stairs leading to a field.

A bark makes the boy's lips twitch into a small smile while he lets his dad guide him down each step.

"I'm nervous," the boy finally admits when the silence grows unbearable.

He has never been this quiet, he's always been outgoing and a chatter box, but it's different now.

"Don't worry, you have about a month before school starts," his dad assures.

"That's why I'm nervous," he replies and stumbles as they reach the last step.

The sheriff grasps his arm almost painfully tight but it prevents him from falling.  The grim expression on his face still remains as he watches his son right himself with a light pink tinge on his cheeks.

"Sorry," the sheriff mumbles.

The boy throws his head back as he laughs.  He grips the cane with his other hand and feels his way around, the metal scraping against the concrete making it vibrate in his hand.  When they stop, the cane folds in on itself with a flick of his wrist until it shrinks.  The metal slowly warms under his fingertips and palm quickly.  His dad slowly and cautiously helps him sit down on the warm tickling grass.

"I'll go speak with the principal, Ebony will keep you company, I won't be long," his dad informs.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Ebony's ball," he asks with an extended hand.

The sheriff smiles as the dog yaps excitedly frolicking around his son in dizzying circles.  He hands the ball to his son and calls Ebony.

"Take care of Stiles," he whispers to the dog.

Ebony's tongue lolls to the side as he licks the sheriff's callous hand.  With a praise and a scrub behind its ears, the sheriff stands from his crouching position and retreats.  Stiles turns away from his dad and Ebony, a sad smile playing at his lips as the furry tennis ball scratches his soft small hand.

The last scene the sheriff sees before disappearing inside Beacon Hills High School is Stiles letting go of the ball as it's thrown.

* * *

 

"Dude why are you such a douche?" Scott complains.

"And why are you so annoying?" Jackson retorts with a roll of his eyes.

"What? I'm not!"

"Are too," Isaac adds in from beside him.

Scott feels as Isaac's hand tightens around his.  They stop in front of the boy's locker room and wait for Jackson to open the stupid door.

"Any day now," Scott glares.

Jackson lifts a hand up to silence them and looks back at the door suspiciously causing Scott to immediately stand in front of Isaac protectively.  The younger male gladly hides behind Scott as Jackson's hand slowly reaches for the doorknob.  The knob  rattles when it's turned and suddenly Jackson jumps out of the way.  Scott gets absolutely drenched in iced water.  His eyes shift to amber and his face contorts to his beta form, the face of a werewolf.  Isaac had jumped away as soon as the door had abruptly opened to avoid the splash.

"Erica!" Scott growls.

"What's wrong?" She questions in mock concern, her hands up in surrender and her face one of nonchalant innocence.

She's wearing Boyd's spare lacrosse uniform which fits way too big around her petite body.  Her blond hair is tied back into a loose ponytail and her shoes squeak on the newly waxed floor.

"I hate you," Scott settles for.

Boyd appears behind her, his arms snake around her thin waist to tug her back against his chest.

"Don't matter, my bear loves me," she winks.

Scott grimaces as she plants a bright red kiss on Boyd's cheek - make up is a bitch to wipe off.

"What's the plan?" Isaac intervenes.

The traitor smiles.

"Not sure, Derek said to change and meet outside," Boyd shrugs.

"I hope he realizes we're in summer vacation and therefore he can't force us to come since, hello, he's not our teacher anymore," Scott rants.

"He is our alpha though," Isaac points out.

"Why are you against me?" Scott whines.

Jackson smirks at their bickering and turns his attention back to Erica again, "you sure you don't want to cheer?"

"And miss out on the fun?" Erica questions.

"Lydia might need company," Isaac suggests, the ever innocence puppy.

"I like to get sweaty," she cackles.

Isaac's eyes grow wide and he gags.  Scott decides to lead him away and kick Erica out.  They change in quick succession, or at least try but it's hard when Isaac is naked in only his boxers.  Scott can't help but stare and if it wasn't for Jackson, he would've liked to admire and worship the boy's entire body.

"Ready lover boy?"

Isaac blushes under the scrutiny of Jackson's eyes and Scott holds back a growl.

Jackson rolls his eyes again at such immature antics.

"Can we go now?"

* * *

 

Stiles startles when he hears voices from behind although no one seems to notice him.  He hears shouts, jokes, and cheers.  An occasional complain here or there but with no heat behind it and for once he wishes he wasn't an outcast, invisible.

He liked his old home, before he had friends but now he's starting over - a new place, a new town.  He throws the ball again and wonders what time it is, although the concept is lost to him.  He does know that even if lunchtime passed, he can really go for curly fries.  Ebony retrieves the ball and Stiles repeats the process undisturbed until something lightly hits his hand and seems to roll away.  He knows it isn't Ebony's ball, realizes the moment it touched his skin with cool plastic unlike soft and furry.

"Hey kid!" Someone yells, the impatience clear as Stiles stays seated.

Stiles moves his head but doesn't do anything else.  It's like he's frozen, he doesn't know what to do.

"Pass the ball!" Someone else shouts, a female more demanding.

Stiles decides to stand on his feet and dusts himself from any dirt while the cane he had held tightly snaps forward.  All the impatient commotion abruptly stops.  The boy looks without seeing and searches unsuccessfully for the ball.  Ebony returns panting and barks at the stunned strangers until he sees his master struggling aimlessly with his cane probing at the grass.

With white dull canines, Ebony gets the ball and offers it to his master whose face lights up in delight.

"Thanks boy," he praises and Ebony hums pleased as Stiles scratches behind his ears.

Taking a stumbling step, Stiles makes his way towards the crowd being led by Ebony who suddenly appears on edge as they approach them.  Stiles cold metal cane hits something solid and he smiles sheepishly in apology.  He extends his hand with the ball out to the the stranger before him, secretly wishing it is a person and not a post or something.

Derek's hand automatically opens palm up and he covers the bottom of the offered ball.  Stiles can't help the small gasp that escapes when a spark runs up his arm as their fingers brush.  Derek feels it in his bones and breathes deeply, the smell of home drowning his senses.  Everyone stands on the field shocked holding their breath until the new Sheriff of Beacon Hills arrives.

"Stiles!"

"Dad?" the boy, Stiles, smiles.

"Sorry I took so long," the sheriff apologizes.

The sheriff scans the field and notes that everyone is immobile, a game of lacrosse clearly paused.  He's tempted to apologize but he has no reason to, his son has done nothing.  Finally the tense silence is broken.

"Sheriff Stilinski," a woman with dark hair and green moss eyes approaches.

The woman and the man before his son have an uncanny resemblance and the sheriff can only assume they're related.

"Talia and Gregory Hale," Sheriff Stilinski greets.

Every werewolf hears as Alpha Talia's heart stutters when her eyes land on the sheriff's familiar son.

"Stiles," she breathes awed.

She hasn't seen the boy in over seven years.

Stiles turns his head to where the voice seems to come from and he blushes profusely.

"Hi," he waves timidly.

Talia's saddened eyes shift to the sheriff in question.

"Son, this is Talia Hale and her husband Gregory Hale," the sheriff introduces as he carefully leads Stiles' clammy hand to hers, "you used to visit their home when you were little."

Realization dawns on Stiles and he snatches his hand away from the soft feminine ones.  He takes a step back and trips over Ebony.  Derek reacts first and catches the boy in his arms.  Stiles buries his face in the strangers warm chest as his breathing accelerates to a panic attack.  It feels like he's choking on air and just can't breathe, more like drowning.

"Hey there," a deep voice coos rumbling in the chest he's hiding in.

Stiles shivers and it doesn't help his already trembling body.

Derek carefully lowers them both onto the soft ground as he cradles Stiles who desperately clings to him.

"I don't want to be here," he sobs uncontrollably.

He feels overwhelmed with memories he buried long ago now resurfacing.  How hadn't he realized they were moving back here?  Why hadn't his dad told him anything?  He feels the sting of betrayal burn behind his eyes.  He thought he was stronger but coming back to the past has his world crumbling all over again.

"Stiles," the sheriff tries desperately.

"Why!  Why did we have to come back!  You promised we wouldn't have to come back!" He yells with furious tears in his eyes.

"Stiles let me explain," his dad pleads.

Stiles rises to his feet shaking his head in denial and rasping his knuckles against his prickly buzz cut hair.  His body is trembling with anger but his voice cracks when he whispers a broken, “you promised.”

He doesn’t want to remember.  He remembering means reliving and that only ends with a pain he can’t handle.

“Son,” the Sheriff sighs.

“M-Maybe I’m not an easy kid to handle but the one thing you could have done was keep that promise.  I don’t what to be here.  I didn’t…I just don’t!”

He flicks the cane out, Ebony barks at the strangers and Cora, discretely flashes her eyes at the mutt which whines in fear.

“Com’on boy,” Stiles sniffles.

The Sheriff doesn’t try to stop him.  Knows he can’t and just let’s his son take the leash for Ebony he’s just attached to the collar.  Stiles tries hard not to feel indignant with how he needs help for everything.  It just, hurts.

And it isn’t until he reaches the parking lot that someone approaches him again.  He doesn’t know who it is but he knows by the way Ebony tenses beside him.  Stiles bites his bottom lip, hoping that it isn’t his dad.  He doesn’t want to say something he’ll regret and that will only hurt them both further.  However, he’s tired.  He’s exhausted from the trip and everything.  He wants to curl up in a ball and cry or perhaps disappear because he can’t deal with this.

He doesn’t care.  With his back pressed to, what he hopes is his dad’s cruiser.  He slides down the metal door and brings his knees to his chest.  He doesn’t want to cry where anyone can see how vulnerable he is but the stranger doesn’t say anything.  Instead he’s being picked up in strong arm and carried away from the car.  He doesn’t protest because somehow, he knows he’s safe.

Derek huffs amused as he picks the boy up from the ground against the protesting dog barking and growling.  He hadn’t meant to intrude but the boy was trying to be as small as possible with his arms around his legs drawn to his chest and his face hiding in his knees, the cane he used long forgotten beside him.  The older doesn’t know, doesn’t remember the boy, but now that they’ve met Derek doesn’t really care.  Nothing matters but taking Stiles away from the mess.  The hurt and sadness is rolling off the teen's shoulders in waves.

Without a single word he carries Stiles away, trusting his mother to take care of the sheriff.  He lets Stiles cry himself into a deeper exhaustion in the back seat of his Camaro until he's only left with small hiccups.  He still doesn’t say anything but Stiles doesn’t mind and it isn’t long before the car, which he only recognizes from the motion, stops.  The door from the back seat opens by his head. And he sits up from the leather seats.

"I’m sorry,” he sniffles with a small voice, the tears well up in his eyes again and they spill over.

“It’s okay,” Derek whispers.

“Yeah, no,” he wipes at his tears furiously, “I just made a scene.”

“It’s justified,” Derek shrugs.

Stiles doesn’t answer but also doesn’t protest when the man leans down to pick him up from the car.  He doesn’t know how the car door closes with both the man’s arms occupied with him.  He doesn’t question it because he doesn’t know a lot of things.

Derek barely manages to open the door to his apartment but does so.  He brings Stiles to his bedroom and carefully lays him on the bed.  Stiles sits with his hands feeling the smooth cool duvet of the bed beneath him.

“Are you okay?”

He nods but isn’t sure as he grimaces when bile rises in his throat making him nauseas.  He’s dealt with this before, every time after chemo.  This feeling isn’t new.

“Do you need anything?”

He thinks about that for a minute, without the warmth of the man he feels a little lost.  He usually doesn’t feel this, doesn’t feel anything really, but then again he’s never interacted with anyone else aside from his dad.

“Can you,” he breathes deeply, “can you just stay here?  Keep me company I know we don’t know each other but I also don’t…I don’t want to be alone,” he answers.

Derek doesn’t respond and for a moment he thinks the man has left, or was probably gone the entire time he confessed he didn’t want to be alone and he’s probably babbling to himself.  The guy probably thinks he’s a freak like everyone else did, or maybe he thinks he’s an idiot.  Then he hears the rustling of someone moving around the room.  Derek takes off his boots to neatly put them beside the bed and peels his leather jacket to pull it over the back of the chair pushed into the gap of his desk. 

“Scoot,” he says.

Stiles hands wander around the bed to find a great expanse of the soft material.  Only when he deems it safe to actually scoot over, and not fall over the edge, does he make room for the man.  Derek watches amused but understands that it must be hard.  He wants to ask many questions but can’t bring himself to do so.

He complies with Stiles’ bidding and sits on the bed beside him.  The silence isn’t awkward.  It can stretch forever and not bother either.  It isn’t until a while later that Stiles realizes he doesn’t even know the man’s name.

“I’m Stiles,” the boy introduces with his hand out, but Derek already knew.

He doesn’t mention it though.  He also doesn’t mention that he’s straight ahead with his hand out.  Derek smiles at that though, but he gets on his knees to make his way in front of the boy sitting crisscross.

“Derek,” he replies shaking the proffered hand.

“Derek,” Stiles repeats.

He decides that he likes the name on his tongue.  He doesn’t question anything, he knows that when he wakes up this will all disappear and eventually he falls asleep, unconsciously snuggling up to Derek.


	2. A New Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter renamed to A New Town

Chapter Two: A New Home

Stiles’ hand, curled in a loose fist, slowly unravels and lays flat on the soft bed, except he realizes that this isn't where he fell asleep, or at least he thinks it isn’t.  The bed linen doesn't feel soft and cool anymore.  Now it's warm beneath his body and it smells oddly like leather. He shifts trying to get comfortable, not wanting to wake up just yet, and the seat groans in protest at the movement.

"Dad?" He croaks as he rubs his hazy eyes filled with sleep.

"Hey kiddo," the Sheriff replies sounding relieved.

His gaze briefly lifts to the rear view mirror where he watches Stiles sit up and face the window with his head pressed to the cold glass.

“Sleep well?”

“Yeah I did, dad where are we going?"  He asks confused.

"Our new house," his dad answers.

Stiles hums but makes no further comment.  He doesn't mention Derek, somehow coming to the conclusion he dreamed the day's occurrence while asleep in the cruiser and the man doesn't even exist.  It would just be dandy if he did mention it and his dad then thought he was crazy.  His dad doesn't even reveal anything to convey if any of the sorts did happen and he wonders if he speaks in his sleep. Maybe he should record himself.  Is that weird?

The car comes to a sudden stop and he thinks momentarily that they’re at a red light until he hears the driver’s door open.  Now that’s weird, why would his dad get out in the middle of the street?  He gets his answer when his door is opened and is carefully led out by his dad.

“Stiles, about what happened…”

Stiles doesn’t let him finish, instead he decides to deflect, “where’s Ebony?”

“He’s already here, I had him dropped off after-“

“Are our belongings here already too?”

“Yes, they are, I made sure,” his dad responds patiently.

“Where is here exactly?”

“It’s not far from your new school.  I also managed to talk with the principal of BHHS.  They’ll set everything at the school to try and make you more comfortable,” the Sheriff assures.

“Oh that’s very reassuring, a disruptive machine is going to be set up in every room I have class in, which might I add, dings whenever a line is finished to start all over just so I can take notes!  Everybody will already think I’m weird but now it’ll just be ten times worse because the only thing I _can_ read is braille,” Stiles huffs.

“Are you done?” The sheriff questions with a small smile.

“Yes,” Stiles breathes.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Dad, it’s not funny and I just did,” Stiles scolds.

“I wasn’t laughing!”

“You sound amused and I’m sure you were smiling.”

The Sheriff chuckles and slings his arm over his son’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry son.  Tomorrow we’ll walk to the school and back, we’ll do it for a whole week before my shift.  We can do the whole memorizing steps and whatever cracks are in the ground so you can get home safely,” his dad promises.

“Okay.”

“Careful, there are steps to the front door.  I wanted to get one with a ramp but there was no other house close to school on the market.  Maybe I’ll get one installed, how about that?”

“Dad?”

“Yes, Stiles?”

“I’m blind, not an invalid in a wheelchair,” Stiles reminds.

“Of course,” the Sheriff rolls his eyes.

Stiles doesn’t reply, he’s too concentrated counting the steps from the beginning of the top step to the door so he doesn’t walk straight into it.  It’s painful, it’s happened twice before, once not so accidental.

“There’s nothing in the living room… or in any room actually, well aside from the beds.  Just be careful with the boxes.  Wait here,” his dad says.

He stands awkwardly in the middle of what he assumes is the living room.  His arms wrap around himself, he isn’t cold but everything feels different from where they used to live.  It feels empty and it makes the house have an eerie feel to it.  He doesn’t want to think about it, about the past or anything really because it isn’t _that_ house.

It isn’t long when he hears the familiar padding of paws coming his way.  He can’t help but smile brightly as he crouches down to meet the level of Ebony who immediately licks a strip up his right cheek to his forehead.  He laughs delighted and scratches Ebony’s head affectionately.  Ebony rolls over and Stiles proceeds to attack his submissive belly.

“Missed you too boy,” Stiles whispers.

Ebony barks pleased that his master is safe and he nuzzles into the clammy hand.

“Here you go,” the sheriff mumbles staring at the cane in disdain and walks back into the room.

Stiles looks up at the approaching footsteps and almost falls backwards but steadies himself with his hands on the hard wood floor.  It feels cold and amazing to lie on.

“What color?”

“Mahogany,” his dad says already having an idea of what Stiles questions and he hands the cane over.

“Thanks,” Stiles smiles.

He then hears his dad move things around, boxes scraping the floor as they’re pushed aside and he decides to sit instead.  He’s tempted to lie, because the floor feels really comfortable.  He does, and he’s so right.

“Why?” He suddenly asks, his hands behind his head and his foot tapping in a soft thudding sound as his legs bend at the knee.

“Hm?  Why what?”

“Why are we back here?”

“I got the position of sheriff,” his dad shrugs.

“That means more work… more dangerous work,” Stiles says softly.

His dad hears it though and he sighs, “We need the money.”

“We were better before,” Stiles mutters petulantly.

“Stiles, I get it,” his dad begins.

Stiles frowns as he sits up and slowly rises to his feet.

“I understand this is hard on you, I understand that it’s hard to be a new student in a new town and have no one.  I get it son.  I really do but we need to move on and even if this place brings back painful memories, we have to move on.  You’re better and it’s time for the start of a new beginning.  This is our home; it has always been our home.”

“No you don’t!  You don’t understand what it feels like to be new and a _freak_!  You can’t possibly understand what it feels to be me, because newsflash, you aren’t me.  I liked our old home, I had a semblance of friends and now I’m a nobody dad.  How can you say you understand when you don’t?  You didn’t even ask what I wanted, if I even wanted to come back here,” he sniffles as tears threaten to spill.

He hates this, hates everything.  He’s seething inside and he can’t contain his anger, not anymore, especially when he feels betrayed.

“You promised we didn’t have to come back, not until I was ready.  Guess what, I’m not.  I hate you!”

He walks away and follows Ebony.

“Stiles, Stiles!”

Stiles trips over the stairs hitting his knees on the edge of the steps, hard, and he holds back a whimper.  Biting his lip he gets back up and makes his way up only stumbling a few times.  He hopes Ebony leads him to his room, hopes that he can stay there all night and never come out.  Wiping away the stupid tears he walks inside an open door and quickly closes it and locks it behind him.  His fingers fumble with the knob until he feels the small nub he easily turns counterclockwise.

With his cane in hand, he moves around and comes across something made of wood he can only assume is a desk and it’s more reassuring because it means this is his room.  He explores the room a bit more and his leg collides with something solid and big almost making him trip until he rights himself.  He tentatively sits upon it and discovers it’s a bed already made.  The cane slips from his hand and he curls up on the bed and silently cries.  Occasionally the pain in his knees flares and he brings them closer to his body.  Ebony whines at his distress but doesn’t bother to warn his master that he isn’t alone.

It isn’t until later that his dad trudges up the stairs and tries the knob only to find it locked.  He takes a deep breath and knocks, preparing himself for what’s to come.

“Stiles?”

No answer.

“Stiles please,” the Sheriff begs.

Stiles doesn’t move, he doesn’t want to talk to his dad, he’s hurting and his dad can’t possibly understand how much.  He burrows deeper under the covers and feels the bed dip as Ebony climbs up.  He pats the space next to him and Ebony obeys.  Stiles turns over to his other side, hopefully facing Ebony, and smiles sadly.

“Only you understand, right boy?”

A small whine is his response, he’s okay with that.  He’s been talking to animals since he was ten and they moved.  At first it was hard to get used to losing everything, having to relearn what he used to know in a completely distinct way.  The only good thing from being blind is Ebony.  After years of begging his parents for a puppy, he finally got one.  He just wished his world hadn’t crumbled like it did, like it still is.

“Tomorrow we’ll go for a walk,” he whispers as if a secret was passed between them.

Ebony’s ears perk at the prospect of a walk.  He can’t be blamed as he’s an active dog to match his master’s hyperactivity.

“Just, don’t get us lost because I really want to come back here and you know…hide.  I know it’s childish but I have a right,” Stiles adds.

Ebony barks and Stiles narrows his eyes at that, “I totally have a right.”

He then proceeds to stick his tongue out.  Ebony licks his cheek and then pushes him off the bed when the pounding on the door becomes insistently annoying.  Stiles huffs and wobbles to the door to yank it open.

He tries to glare at his dad but it isn’t as intimidating as it should be since it looks like he glaring at the wall.

“Stiles,” his dad breathes.

“Dad?”

“I’m sorry,” the Sheriff quickly says before the door can be slammed in his face.

“I’m sorry I tried to be in your shoes but have no idea what you’re suffering.  I know I should’ve asked you, especially since you just finished chemo and are still recovering.  I’m sorry,” his voice breaks as he pulls Stiles in for a hug.

Stiles crossed arms fall limp at his sides and the scared little boy from seven years ago wraps his arms around his dad.

“I’m scared daddy,” he sniffles.

“I know but we’ve got each other,” the Sheriff promises.

“What if I don’t fit in?  What if it’s like before?”

“I’ll arrest them, find an excuse, try to pass a new law if I have too so I can frame them.  I won’t let you down, son, not again.”

“It was never your fault,” Stiles assures.

The Sheriff feels a lump form in his throat and he swallows thickly.

“I should’ve known, maybe if I had paid attention you could at least have your eye sight back.”

“We were both grieving; it’s not something that could’ve been prevented.  I don’t blame you, I never did and I never will.  I’m sorry I said I hated you, I don’t, I love you,” Stiles whispers.

“I love you too kiddo,” the Sheriff laughs valiantly trying to fight off the tears and thankful his son can’t see him so broken.

“We’ll be okay,” he continues to promise, “now let’s go eat something.”

“Okay, thanks dad,” Stiles smiles.

“Yeah, yeah, I ordered Chinese.  Tomorrow we’ll take that walk and we’ll go to the police department and do whatever.  My first shift doesn’t start till Monday but I want to get familiarized with everything.”

“Did you order my books to be delivered here?  I really want–”

“I know Stiles, food first then we’ll talk.  I also ordered you a new phone because your old one is–”

“Outdated?” Stiles laughs as he takes out an old fashioned phone with the small buttons and the tiny screen from his pocket.

He doesn’t mind the screen because he can’t see it anyway.  The buttons may be small but he can still feel the braille on each one, the way they tickle his finger just as he searches for the right key.  He’s happy with his old crappy phone, materialistic things don’t matter.

“Oh how about the canvas?”

“They’re on their way; Mrs. Johnson has sent more than one by the way.  At least the spare room will be filled with something,” his dad assures.

“We have a spare room?”

His dad steers him into the kitchen and helps Stiles sit in one of the chairs.  He pulls out the cartons of food and lays them out on a plate in front of Stiles.

“There’s so much you should be able to see.  So much I want you to see,” the sheriff says under his breath even though he's across the room getting forks and drinks meaning Stiles won't be able to hear him.

Stiles simply sits content, just looking straight ahead.  His heart aches at the picture of innocence and no matter how much Stiles says he’s fine, he won’t stop blaming himself for what happened to his son.

Later, when Stiles is back in bed wrapped in his warm blanket, is the only time that he thinks on everything that’s happened so far until he falls deep asleep.  A soft breeze blows inside the room and he slightly shivers.  In the corner, by the door a chair is set up.  Forest green eyes watch over the trembling boy.  He gets up quietly and shuts the window.  Ebony glares at him but it seems that he’s finally reached an understanding with the mutt.  He walks to the bed and pulls the blanket up just a bit more over the thin shoulders dressed in a simple t-shirt.

He presses a soft kiss to the boy’s warm forehead and mutters a soft, “good night.”

Stiles snuffles inside his cocoon and mumbles a tired, “Derek.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. Best Friends

Chapter Three: Best Friends

Like promised the Sheriff wakes up early, just when the sun comes out as it filters through the curtains of the small window into his room.  He groans awake and yawns loudly before it breaks off into a wide smile.  He rubs at his stomach, clothed in a white t-shirt and in simple shorts.  He gets up and quietly walks downstairs into the kitchen.  Stiles hates when he cooks because he always makes “unhealthy” food.  He knows his son worries about his health but Stiles should have more faith.  That’s why he’s been following his son’s orders on a strict green diet for an entire week.   Now, he gets to make pancakes so they can go for their first walk around Beacon Hills.

It isn’t perfect, he can still feel the hurt from his son despite having mended their rocky relationship and he knows this is the only chance he has.  It will go back to being the same, before they moved back here.  He’ll take extra hours just to try and pay the bills from the chemo.  However, in exchange he hardly ever sees his son even though Stiles is vulnerable no matter what he says and it pains the Sheriff every time he walks out the door.  He has two days to spend with his son and he’s going to take full advantage of it.

Stiles shifts in bed and groans.  He doesn’t have the same problem as others when the light grazes his face, but the heavenly smell makes him cave in.  It smells absolutely wonderful.  He can just distinguish the smell of pancakes and eggs with sizzling bacon.  It makes his mouth water just at the thought.  He knows it’s unhealthy and he will reprimand his dad about it but it is tradition.  Every weekend, especially those the Sheriff has off, they eat a breakfast made by him, it’s nice.

The smile that threatens to escape doesn’t disappear as he carefully slips out of bed only tripping once over Ebony before stumbling out his room.  He makes his way downstairs with the help of the wall.  He can feel the small bumps and ridges from the wood but the coating of its paint makes the texture a mix of both rough and smooth.  It almost feels like it tickles his hand as he drags it behind him.  He probably should be more careful.  Which is the last coherent thought before he falls down the stairs.

The Sheriff takes a moment to listen carefully.  He can hear the light steps of his son walking upstairs.  He knows that Stiles can smell the breakfast he’s making, it’s the only way to rouse his son.  What he doesn’t expect is the sudden sound of his son’s steps disappearing.

“Son?” the Sheriff calls as he turns down the volume of the stove.

He gets no answer and he starts to worry, especially when he hears a heavy thud.  He quickly hurries around the kitchen and toward the stair case.  What greets him is his son on the floor curled in on himself with his eyes closed.  At first he worries and as he makes to approach the lump, he stops.  Stiles’ shoulders are shaking and his hand reaches up to cover his mouth.  The Sheriff’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“It happened again,” he laughs silently.

The Sheriff crouches down and carefully wipes away the silent tears streaming down Stiles’ rosy cheeks.  Stiles lets his dad hold him, he knows that its irrational to cry over tripping but it’s always been hard.

“I’m okay, sorry if I scared you,” Stiles sniffles.

“Nonsense, here come on.  Breakfast is ready,” his dad says with a small smile.

Just as the words are spoken the fire alarms begin to blare and smoke starts to make its way toward them.

“Damn it, I swore I turned the flame lower,” the Sheriff grumbles.

Stiles scrunches his nose in distaste but laughs wholeheartedly at his dad’s misfortune.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes but he doesn’t even sound guilty.

The Sheriff shakes his head and they both make their way to the kitchen where his portion of bacon goodness lies burnt.  He quickly turns off the stove and takes away the skillet away.

“At least you like your bacon crispy,” Stiles snickers behind him.

The Sheriff glares but he ruffles his son’s hair with a smile.

“Forget about the bacon and let’s eat,” he says instead.

“Okay,” Stiles smiles and moves his plate until he hears it collide lightly with his dad’s.

“Here,” he continues as he carefully pushes some bacon off his plate.

The Sheriff barely manages to catch the bacon before it lands on the table instead of the intended plate.

“Thanks son,” he replies.

“Mmhm,” he hums already occupied with eating blueberry pancakes.

Both smirk when they hear Ebony padding his way to the kitchen.  Stiles hears the scrape of his dad’s chair against the floor no doubt getting Ebony his share of food.  Stiles secretly gives him a piece of bacon which Ebony devours hungrily.  He scratches the top of his head, the fur soft under his hand.

They eat breakfast in relative silence, joking a few times here or there.  Stiles, thankfully, starts to recognize where everything is and has memorized the steps from the stairs to his room having not gotten a chance last night.  He’s dressed in simple jeans with a t-shirt he hopefully thinks is batman from the touch of the design.

He has a bit more trouble putting on his shoes so he gives up on his converse and chooses his slip-on shoes; they’re less of a hassle.

Ebony runs ahead of him when he steps out of his room barking loudly.  Stiles laughs and follows behind more carefully than the first time.  His hand is holding onto the wooden railing as precaution and he makes it down stairs without another scratch, or bruise.  He takes a right and counts the steps toward the front door.  He doesn’t have to because a hand on his shoulder makes him stop.

“Here ya go kiddo,” his dad says.

Stiles can feel his dad’s callous hand pass him Ebony’s leash that pulls excitedly.

“Thanks dad,” Stiles grins and turns to Ebony’s barking, “Easy boy.”

They walk out and the Sheriff closes the door behind him.

“Hey, son?”

Stiles has that concentrated look on his face as he reaches the concrete step and walks down without any help. 

“Yeah?”  He finally responds when he’s safe from falling.

His dad is right next to him if the soft chuckle indicates anything.

“I got you this,” He says.

Stiles feels his hand being lifted, palm up, and he shivers when cold metal makes contact.  He pauses momentarily to distinguish the teeth of what seems to be a key.

“There’s a gate up front I forgot to mention yesterday since we parked in the garage.  The gate,” he stops to guide Stiles, “can open by this latch.”

“This key is for the front door of our house,” he continues.

“It’s not like I’m going to go out aside from school,” Stiles shrugs.

His dad sighs but pats his back reassuringly.

“Let’s go?”

“Yeah, lets.”

The walk to the school is easy, Ebony occasionally pulling in excitement that just doesn’t tapper.  It’s really only about a hundred and three steps away from home and he remembers that at sixty-two there is a root from a tree protruding from the ground onto the sidewalk causing it to shift like a small step.  That, he distinguished on the way to the school.  In his mind he makes the calculations for when he has to go back, which will be step forty-one.

They’re just about to reach step twenty-five for the way back when his dad gets a phone call.  His dad tries to conceal it, only talking in hushed whispers but after losing one sense, the others improved just a bit.

“I can’t, I’m not supposed to start until Monday.  It’s only Saturday, I wanted to spend it with my son,” the Sheriff hisses.

Stiles can’t hear the response from the other line of the phone but he can tell it upsets his dad.

“Dad?”

The Sheriff spares a quick glance at his son.

“Sorry son,” he whispers.

Stiles smiles, this isn’t the first time.

“It’s okay, just go, they need you,” Stiles whispers back.

The Sheriff pulls the phone away from his ear and stares at his son, “You need me too.”

“I remember the count, I’ll be fine and plus I have Ebony,” Stiles replies cheerfully.

His dad bites his lip in contemplation, “okay.  Thank you son, I owe you!”

Stiles smiles sadly to himself as he hears his dad’s hurrying footsteps running the opposite way from home.  Some things never seem to change.

* * *

“Scott!”

Scott is moving around his bedroom with a broom in hand sweeping.  His IPod is loud enough to mask any other noise but not enough for him to freak out at the loud sound.  Being a werewolf has its perks, and its drawbacks.

Melissa McCall is losing her patience as she stands at the bottom of the stairs with her hands on her hips.  Already running late, she decides to simply go to her son’s room.  She hopes she doesn’t see anything inappropriate.  Thankfully, she doesn’t, but a small smile threatens to overtake her stern face when she witnesses Scott dancing around.

She’s standing right behind Scott and just about to tap his shoulder when the boy turns around and nearly crashes into her.  He falls down on his behind and quickly dislodges a headphone from his ear.

“Mom!” He exclaims surprised.

“Scott,” she remarks with a pointed stare.

“Sorry,” he mumbles but he can see the slight lift on her lips.

“I made a casserole for the new Sheriff and his son, who are our neighbors by the way,” she smiles.

“Okay?” Scott questions befuddled.

“And I need you to take it after you’re finished cleaning up,” she adds.

“Why can’t you?”

“Because sweetheart, I work the late shift today,” she sighs.

Scott can see the weary lines around her eyes, the way her body is slightly slouch from the constant tiredness.  He knows it’s hard for her and it’s the least he can do for all that she does.

“Okay, I will,” he amends quickly.

The forced tired smile she had before turns genuine and she hugs her son gratefully, “thank you.”

Scott nods and returns the warm gesture just before pressing a kiss to her forehead when she disentangles herself.

“You’re welcome, and be careful!” Scott calls after her.

Melissa waves at Scott as she walks away.

Scott decides that maybe he should do as his mom says.  He looks around his room which is now half clean and half messy.  Deciding that taking a break might be a good idea, he hurries downstairs to the kitchen where the casserole sits on the counter.  He makes to pick it up but realizes that he probably should wear mittens for appearance sake.

With a slight jump to his step, Scott walks toward his new neighbors.  He feels kind of awkward and shy, especially after what happened the day before although he’s always been this way with strangers.

Taking a deep breath Scott raises his fist, holding the casserole with one hand while the other pounds lightly on the white wooden door.

Stiles is on the couch reading just on the verge of finishing the third book of the Harry Potter series.  He heard so much about them and is glad he finally found the braille version and managed to buy all of the books.  It’s just when he’s at page four-hundred-fifteen does he get startled by a knock on the front door.  He furrows his brows in confusion, his dad didn’t mention anyone stopping by and Ebony’s asleep beside him so he won’t be able to attack an intruder unless he wakes up.

Shrugging, and just a bit fearful, Stiles stands from his spot on the couch and carefully maneuvers through the living room to reach the door.  A second knock and he makes it.  He pulls the door open, his hand wrapped around the cool unused knob.  He takes a deep nervous breath.

“Hello?  Can I help you?” He asks politely.

Scott stands frozen. He was just fiddling with his shirt when the door opened to reveal the young boy from yesterday.  He doesn’t say anything.

Stiles bites his lip and feels like crap, maybe the neighborhood kids found out that a freak already lives here and decided to prank him since he can’t see.  He’s just about to close the door when a breaking voice interrupts.

“Hi,” Scott croaks.

“Hi?”

“Uhm… I–I’m Scott,” the other boy begins.

“Stiles.”

“My… um mom made you something,” Scott says awkwardly.

“She did?” Stiles questions confused.

“Uh yeah, since you and your dad are new here, she wanted to give you a welcoming gift.  She would’ve come personally but she has a late shift.  Oh, um it’s a casserole by the way.”

“Oh thank you,” Stiles smiles.

He breathes a bit easier now that he knows it wasn’t a cruel joke.

“It’s hot so maybe you should wear these,” Scott suggests as he peels off one of the mittens and then the other.

Stiles blushes as he holds the thick gloves in his hands.  Scott waits patiently but it isn’t until a few minutes that he realizes Stiles might not be able to put them on.

“Oh here let me help,” he says feeling like an idiot.

“Thank you, and sorry for troubling you,” Stiles mumbles embarrassed.

“It’s no biggy,” Scott smiles, “where’s your dad?”

“He got called in despite the fact we’ve barely been here for twenty-four hours,” Stiles replies.

Scott places the casserole on the ground and helps Stiles slip the mittens on.  Stiles wiggles his fingers to fit them in perfectly, although the fit a bit loose on him.  He almost hisses at the heat from Scott’s hands.

“Sorry, casserole is hot so caution,” Scott apologizes.

“Please don’t tell me I made you burn yourself,” Stiles pleads.

“Dude, it’s fine.  You get used to it after trials in the kitchen, maybe that’s why my mom doesn’t let me cook,” Scott responds thoughtfully.

Stiles laughs, “I almost burnt the house down.  It was only one time and my dad still holds it over my head.”

“Dude! You cook?!”

“Dude, I also read,” Stiles smirks.

“No way!” Scott gasps.

“Uh do you want to come in?” Stiles offers.

He knows his dad says never to talk to strangers, but Scott seems like a nice guy.

“Do you mind?”

“Na, come on in,” Stiles smiles.

They both walk inside and Stiles makes it to the kitchen with the casserole intact.  He sets it down on the table before going back into the living room where he hopes Scott is.

“Do you really read?” Scott asks curiously.

Stiles nods proudly and leads them both to the couch.

“I think my dad already installed the TV, you’re welcome to watch,” Stiles says.

Stiles sits down beside Scott but closer to Ebony.  He picks up the book and opens to the page he marked before being interrupted.

“That’s a book,” Scott states obviously.

“Yes, with paper and everything,” Stiles nods.

“I thought you were…you know,” Scott mutters.

“I was what?”

“I don’t want to be insensitive,” Scott answers honestly.

“You mean blind?  Yes I am but I can’t put limitations on myself,” Stiles replies.

“So how can you read?”

“Have you ever heard of braille?”

“Uh…honestly?  No,” Scott says somewhat ashamed.

“I suppose you haven’t, not many people are blind although I guess that’s an understatement considering that over 285 million people in the world are visually impaired but only 39 million are actually blind, of course that was the census since 2011,” Stiles reasons.

Scott stares at him wide eyed in shock, “do you just know that?”

Stiles grins, “I know many facts, some of which are random.”

“That’s amazing,” Scott praises.

“Thanks, it’s what you do whenever you get bored,” Stiles shrugs.

“Don’t you have hobbies?”

“I kind of have to, not many people are willing to be friends with someone who is blind or has other physical impairments as well as disorders,” Stiles replies.

Scott turns his body toward Stiles, “good thing then.”

“Why?” Stiles frowns.

Is it a good thing people who are “different” to be bullied and treated like an outcast?  Is humanity really stooping so low?  Stiles can’t believe this Scott person could’ve been different from the way he talked.  He’s just about to go on a tangent and kick Scott out when he hears it.

“What?” He asks dumbfounded.

“Good thing, that way I get to be your first friend here at Beacon Hills,” Scott repeats.

“Really?”

“Well if you want.  I know it might be hard to fit in, trust me I’ve had similar problems and everyone needs a friend.  I’m sure the others wouldn’t mind either,” Scott replies.

“Others?”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to meet them until you’re ready, I mean unless you want to be my friend.  I’m kind of socially awkward and I don’t have many friends but the ones I do have are understanding, although sometimes overbearing,” Scott nods.

Stiles feels his heart stutters.  Is Scott serious?  He actually wants to be friends with someone like him?

“Are you okay?” Scott asks concerned.

“Y-Yeah, just…thanks, not many people are as kind as you,” Stiles answers.

“Thanks,” Scott smiles sheepishly.

He can see that Stiles has never been treated well by others.  It’s written on the way he holds himself, how he speaks.  It almost makes Scott fill with rage at the audacity of people.  How can they be so cold-hearted, especially to those who have done nothing wrong?  He wants to prove to Stiles that not everyone is heartless.  At least he’s not inconsiderate although Jackson is a jackass and Lydia might be merciless but that’s just them being “popular.”

“Hey Scott?”

“Huh? Yeah?”

“Thanks, your kind of the first person that has approached me without thinking I’m a freak and I appreciate that.  I was kind of worried that I wouldn’t fit in and that maybe I wouldn’t survive this school year but I know I can make it if I at least have an awesome friend like you, so yes, I’d like to be friends,” Stiles replies.

The words almost make Scott choke with the blunt sincerity of the words spoken.  He knows what it’s like to be an outcast even if he wasn’t suffering like Stiles has been.

He slings an arm over Stiles shoulders, “I think we’ll be best friends.”


	4. Invite

Chapter Four: Invite

The sheriff sighs as he fumbles with the keys in his hands.  Each individual key poke at his callous hands as they clink against the other metals making them rattle as he looks for the correct one.  The house seems quiet and he’s almost worried that something is wrong because Stiles would usually be awake at this time, but it’s barely nine and there no movement.  He can just make out a slither of light coming from the living room through the plain curtains of the window he hasn’t gotten a chance to change.

Finally, in a brief moment of eureka, the sheriff holds onto the key that belongs to the house.  He should really consider separating work with home.  Just thinking about work, just thinking about the _keys_ in his hand, makes the Sheriff feel weary and tired.  Who would’ve thought paperwork could take so long considering he left almost seven hours ago, maybe longer.  He needs strong coffee to even function correctly, or perhaps sleep would be better.

Scrubbing his face with a callous hand, the Sheriff opens the door quietly.  He walks into the living room noticing the light is on.  He makes his way to climb the stairs and flop on his bed in a tired heap but the light catches his eye.  He’s just about to turn the switch off when he sees the lump on the couch.

Stiles is curled up on his side sleeping soundly, his hands clasped together pillowing his head.  The Sheriff winces at how uncomfortable his son must feel sleeping on the lumpy couch.  He carefully goes to his side, an internal debate raging in his head.  Should he wake his son up or should he let him sleep?  His concern gets the better of him and he gently shakes his son awake.  Stiles groans and swats his hands away, the sheriff can’t help but smile at the gesture.

“Stiles?  Stiles, son,” the Sheriff calls softly.

“’m tired, go ‘way,” Stiles mumbles.

“Son com’on, let’s get you to bed,” his dad whispers.

Stiles’ eyes flutter open revealing the constant glassy honeyed doe eyes.

“Dad?” He croaks confused.

“Hey there, looks like you fell asleep reading Harry Potter again,” the Sheriff chuckles.

Stiles blushes and carefully sits up, his body protesting after being asleep in the same position for hours.  He gratefully takes the offered book his dad gives him.  He makes sure the bookmark is where he left it before placing it on the small wooden table.

“How was work?” He asks only cutting off with a yawn.

“It was fine, how was the rest of your day?  You seem utterly exhausted,” the Sheriff smiles jokingly.

“Scott stopped by today,” Stiles answers.

“Scott?”

“Yeah, our neighbor’s son, he came to drop a casserole his mom made as a welcoming gift,” Stiles smiles excitedly, his weariness momentarily forgotten.

“I’m guessing it went fine?”

“Yeah…  Looks like I have a new friend in Beacon Hills,” Stiles nods content.

“I’m glad,” his dad replies.

He’s genuinely glad his son could find at least one friend here although he won’t voice his concern directly.  He tries for evasive and casually asks when he can meet this Scott person.  Stiles blushes and rolls his eyes, his hand softly slapping his dad’s arm.  It’s no secret between them that Stiles leans more to his side of gender specifics.  His dad has been nothing but supportive since Stiles decided that no, he doesn’t like girls in _that_ way.

“I don’t like Scott like that.  In fact, the short amount of time we spent talking I found him more of a brother,” Stiles explains.

The sheriff raises a skeptical eyebrow but nods nonetheless, whatever his son says he’ll just go with it.  He ruffles his son’s hair, his chest aching when he thinks how long it used to be before Claudia died.  He shudders now at the memory, something Stiles must have felt.  His son offers him a soft smile and places his hand atop his dad’s over his head.

In good natured humor he jokes, “at least it grew back.”

The sheriff chuckles again, the sound almost hollow even in his own ears.

“Sorry son,” the Sheriff sighs apologetic.

“For?”

His dad shrugs, “everything?”

“God we’ve been over this already, you shouldn’t apologize for anything, I’m happy that should be enough right?”

“Yeah, you’re right kiddo,” his dad relents.

“O’ course I am,” Stiles laughs.

He gets up from the couch, the sheriff following behind and keeping a careful eye on his son as they ascend the stairs.  At the top he takes a deep breath and presses a kiss to his son’s head.  Every night, if he can help it, he always gives his son a goodnight kiss.  Years back when Stiles was still in chemo it was like any day could be his last despite the tumors not being cancerous.  For that he’s thankful.  At least his son didn’t run the same course of luck his wife had.

“Good night and maybe you can invite Scott and his mom over for dinner,” the sheriff adds.

“I’m cooking,” Stiles immediately says.

The sheriff rolls his eyes, his hand a nice heavy weight on Stiles’ shoulder, “Fine but I’m helping, don’t want rat poisoning instead of condiment spices.”

“First of all, rat arsenic shouldn’t even be next to food,” Stiles argues.

The sheriff gently pushes him to his bedroom, “go sleep, I was just joking.”

Stiles pouts and crosses his arms over his chest but despite the petulant act, the Sheriff can still see the content gleam in his eyes.  Times like this is when his son reminds him of his late wife the most.  Stiles rolls his eyes and reaches to hug his dad.  The Sheriff smiles, a small sad curve of his lips that falls when the door to his son’s bedroom closes.

Stiles smiles, he takes out his phone and holds it in his hands which for some reason are a bit clammy.  He’s nervous, he just met Scott but, like he told his dad, it feels like they’ve known each other since forever.  He feels comfortable but he’s not sure if Scott really meant what he said.

He closes his eyes and leans his head against the wooden door of his room.

* * *

 

_“You have a phone right?” Scott had asked._

_“Yeah,” Stiles nodded._

_“Can I see it?”_

_“Um sure?”_

_Scott had snatched the phone from Stiles hand, all Stiles heard was the small growls of frustrations from Scott who, tried as he may, had no idea how to program his number in the small device.  Stiles figured what he was doing and couldn’t help but laugh.  Scott finally managed to arrive at contacts and only saw three numbers.  His brow furrowed and he’s tempted to ask Stiles but doesn’t know if that’s personal._

_“Scott? Did you run off and steal my phone?  If you did, I have no idea why you need such an outdated cell,” Stiles giggled._

_Scott rolled his eyes and punched his friend’s arm playfully, “No, I’m trying to give you my number.”_

_Stiles chuckled and took the phone back, “How far did you get to?”_

_“Contacts,” Scott answered._

_Stiles nodded, “what’s your number?”_

_Dumbfounded, Scott gave his phone number and watched in fascination as Stiles placed it in his contacts.  He turned the phone around to face the tiny screen toward Scott._

_“What number is it?” Stiles asked._

_“Four down,” Scott replied amazed._

_“Thanks,” Stiles smiled._

_“So uh… call me?”_

_“I’m guessing you have to go?”_

_“Yeah movie night with the others, I would ask you to go but…”_

_Stiles laughed Scott only stared in awe at the raw mirth in the boy’s eyes._

_“Maybe next time, my dad isn’t home and I usually don’t go out without warning him but I know he’s busy so calling is out of the question,” Stiles said pleased._

_Scott was shocked, he didn’t want to seem insensitive but Stiles was so easygoing._

_“Next time we’ll catch a movie,” Scott promised._

_“Only if I can choose!” Stiles called back._

* * *

 

Stiles giggles feeling giddy and in his head counts down four until he’s sure Scott’s number is highlighted.  He takes a moment to breathe, his finger hovering over the call button.  The light braille tickles his thumb and without thinking he presses it.  It rings for a while before anyone answers, just before he decides it’s a bad idea and ends the call.

Instead he’s startled when Scott answers cheerfully.

“ ** _I thought you weren’t going to call_ ,**” Scott says sounding relieved.

“How’d you know it was me?” Stiles asks.

He hears a giggle in the background which causes him to bite his lip nervously.

“ ** _Kind of been waiting, Isaac says I’m an impatient puppy especially when I have new friends_ ,**” Scott replies.

Stiles smirks and can totally imagine an overly grown puppy yapping and frolicking.  For a moment he pictures Ebony when he first got him, he was so small and fluffy.

“I can kind of picture that,” Stiles finally agrees.

“ _ **See!  I told you so!**_ ” Someone hisses in triumph.

Stiles laughs and carefully walks to his warm bed.  He plops down exhausted and lands on his back, a pillow cushioning his head when he finds it.

“Hey are you busy tomorrow?” Stiles asks, might as well rip it like a Band-Aid.

It takes Scott a moment, as if he’s asking someone something.  Stiles breath hitches when he hears a familiar deep rich voice answer Scott.  It makes him bolt from the bed, his heart racing in the cavity of his chest.  He bites his lip until he tastes a salty metallic substance, blood.  He begins pacing questioning why he’s so nervous.  He shouldn’t be nervous.  He shouldn’t, he’s not.  He’s not nervous, nope.  Definitely not nervo-

“ ** _Yeah I’m free,_** ” Scott returns.

“W-What about your mom?” Stiles adds thickly.

“ ** _Oh uh free, it’s actually her day off_** ,” Scott responds.

“M-My dad actually wanted to invite you and your mom for dinner.  Th-That’s why I called in the first place,” Stiles says.

“ ** _So you weren’t going to call me on your own accord?_** ” Scott questions, his voice sounding gloomy.

Someone cackles in the background, a girl Stiles deducts.  He winces when he replays what he’s just said to Scott.

“No!  I mean yes!  Honestly I don’t know what I mean, sorry?  I’m kind of new at this,” Stiles answers.

When Scott next speaks, Stiles can practically hear the smile in his voice, “ ** _Don’t worry that’s going to change!  I’ll ask my mom but I’m sure she’ll be delighted._** ”

“Okay, I guess… see you tomorrow?” Stiles says hesitantly.

“ ** _Tomorrow,_** ” Scott replies.

The line goes dead and Stiles is left a bit dazed.  That voice sounded so much like Derek… Holy crap he’s a creep.  He hits his head lightly with the palm of his hand while repeating “idiot idiot idiot” like a mantra.  It was just his imagination, there were other people there it could have been someone else that has an uncanny resemblance to _that_ voice.

Stiles’ tongue swipes his lower lip were blood had gathered from biting so hard.  He takes another deep breath and exhales trying desperately to relax.  He’s definitely imagining things.  Last time he checked Derek was a figment of his subconscious portraying it in his dreams, Stiles shivers.  He’s so weird; he can’t believe he managed to make a friend.  Then again Scotty did mention something about being an outcast.

“Okay,” Stiles whispers to himself, “just hearing things that aren’t real.  It’s okay though.  There’s worse out there.  I could be a psychopathic killer living with my dad who’s a sheriff.  Wait… that’s just ironic.”

He groans and slips into bed again, he needs sleep, lots of sleep, preferably a dreamless sleep where he can’t picture Derek, mostly because that will only leave him questioning how Derek looks like.  He’s so screwed.

In the end, he can’t sleep a wink wondering if Derek is real and if Scott knows him.  Maybe he can ask Scott tomorrow if he can get Derek’s number or if he can contact him to thank him for…for…

He’s going to have a long night ahead of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	5. Tiramisu

Chapter Five:  Tiramisu

Stiles takes a deep breath, he’s just finished dressing.  Nothing too fancy but he’s not completely casual.  That means he's wearing the printed tux t-shirt and black jeans with his usual shoes.  He thinks he looks good, at least he hopes so.  He blows a breath in his cupped hand in front of his mouth.  His brows furrow in concentration for a moment until Ebony barks.  Stiles nods as if understanding what Ebony has just said.

“You’re right I should brush and use mouth wash,” he says before grasping the metal cane lying nonchalantly on top of his dresser.

He wanders out his bedroom and stops when he hits something he quickly recognizes as a door when it creaks open.  His hands wander over the smooth wood until he finds the sign.  He can’t help but smile when he feels the familiar bumps and lines of the bathroom sign his dad nailed to the door.  There’s no braille but he can clearly imagine the lines forming a picture.  He opens the door the rest of the way and feels the wall for the light switch which he flicks on.  It’s not as if he needs the light but he doesn’t want to give his old man a heart attack.

He takes seven steps and stops when he feels the granite counter of the sink.  He stands unseeing in front of the mirror.  He fumbles momentarily when he tries to turn the faucet on.  The water immediately streams down and splashes his awaiting hands.  He shivers when the cool water makes contact to his warm hands.  He quickly splashes water on his face and lightly taps his cheeks.  He shouldn’t be nervous, Scott is a nice guy.  He didn’t appear bothered with Stiles being blind so maybe his mom is nice too.  He really hopes so.

A droplet trickles from his buzz cut hair to his upturned nose until it falls and splashes onto the counter.  He cuts off the water and searches for the hand towels he’s sure his dad placed somewhere.  He smiles when he feels the soft material under his fingertips.  He grasps it and passes it over his drenched face; he’ll ask his dad if he splashed any water on himself.

He closes his eyes as a memory quickly manifests in his mind.  He had just gotten out from the boy’s bathroom and had hoped to find Allison waiting for him outside as she usually did.  The thing was, she wasn’t there and he had splashed water on himself.  A couple of bullies had been standing and of course Stiles hadn’t seen them and walked straight into them.  He vaguely heard uncontrolled giggles before a rough hand pushed him.  He stumbled but couldn’t catch his balance on time and inevitably ended on the floor.  Allison, the goody-two-shoes who had gone to help a teacher, returned and managed to stop the situation from escalating but the verbal and physical hurt was firmly embedded in his mind.

He shakes his head to stop the memory and takes a deep breath.  He was young, it’s different now.  With one last mental check over, Stiles grabs the cane he had folded and set aside.  It extends in a flick and guides him out the room into the hall.  His hand is always on the wall and his beating heart calms down when he figures out that the stairs are right before him.  He’s not going to make the same mistake twice.

Ebony is yapping excited probably feeling Stiles’ emotions.  Not that he blames his little over-grown pup.  Ebony has always been in tuned to his feelings which only makes their bond stronger.

“Hey dad?”

“Yeah?”

Stiles smiles, “what time is it?”

“Almost time champ,” the Sheriff assures.

He's currently standing in the kitchen after convincing Stiles that he didn’t have to cook anything and it had nothing to do with potential poisoning.  He can’t suppress a chuckle and Stiles glares at him but it only makes it worse.  His little boy isn’t so little anymore.  He comes around the table and pats his son’s shoulder gripping it once before backing away.

“Thanks dad,” Stiles whispers.

“I know son.”

The doorbell rings at five-thirty sharp.  It causes a smile to form on the Sheriff’s wary face.  It only means this Scott guy is being genuine and truly wants to befriend his son.  It makes something in the Sheriff’s chest tighten and his worry slowly slips.

“I told you,” He murmurs.

Stiles laughs under his breath and pats his dad right back, “I think _I_ told _you_.”

The Sheriff’s chuckle can be heard as he approaches the front door to greet their guests.  Stiles' forgotten panic suddenly spikes.  He hadn’t asked his dad, he hadn’t asked if he looked okay!

“Dad!” He hisses.

He shuts his eyes when he hears the door being pulled open, too late.

“Hello,” The Sheriff greets pleasantly as he sees a young woman with dark curly hair.

Just behind the young woman stands a teen with the same unruly hair.

“Hello Sheriff, I’m Melissa McCall,” the young woman replies.

“You look lovely,” the Sheriff compliments sincerely.

Melissa blushes, not being used to such compliments since her late husband.  She can see a young boy, probably younger than Scott, over the Sheriff’s shoulder.  Stiles steels his quickly dwindling resolve and appears beside his dad when three pairs of footsteps approach him.

“Mrs. McCall, this is my son Stiles,” the Sheriff introduces.

Stiles steps in front of Mrs. McCall with the help of his dad and slightly bows offering to take her hand.  She gladly gives it to him and Stiles presses a kiss like a true gentleman.

“I’ll have to trust my dad and say you look divine,” Stiles grins.

It earns a laugh from Mrs. McCall and Stiles counts that as a win considering it sounds pleasant.

“Dude, ew,” Scott comments.

Stiles’ smile grows impossibly wide and both boys meet in the middle with a hug as if they haven’t seen each other in years.

“Scott!”

“How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Stiles grins.

Scott laughs but stops when he sees the dog from last night.  Ebony barks, but unlike their first encounter, it isn’t hostile.

“Oh this,” Stiles motions to Ebony as he pets the fluffy head, “is Ebony, my seeing eye dog.”

Scott reaches a tentative hand toward Ebony, many animals, including dogs, don’t take well to weres.  Ebony, however, surprises him when he licks his hand instead of biting it off.  He can’t help but smile and rub the dog’s offered belly.

“Who’s a good boy?  Who’s a good boy?” Scott coos.

Stiles rolls his eyes playfully, “I hope you’re not allergic Mrs. McCall.  I can always lead Ebony outside if he makes you uncomfortable.”

“Oh no he’s fine sweetheart,” Melissa assures and to prove her point she joins Scott and pats the dog’s head.

Stiles can’t see it but the reassuring way his dad places a hand on his shoulder is enough.

“Thank you,” Stiles whispers.

Melissa looks at the boy and can’t help the ache in her chest, he’s such a sweetheart.

After washing up and everyone is settled around the table, the Sheriff serves the food.

“Thank you for the casserole, it was delicious,” the Sheriff praises.

“Oh, thank you,” Melissa smiles pleased.

Stiles rolls his eyes again but this time at his dad.  It is true the casserole was amazing but his dad sounds so awed.  It’s okay though because Stiles would’ve probably said something even foolish.   He’ll leave his dad do that for them both.

Scott can’t help but stare in admiration as he witnesses Stiles eat by himself, never once misplacing his fork into the table.  He’s absolutely amazing.  Stiles raises his head when he feels eyes on him and carefully places the fork on his plate, satisfied when he hears the soft clink of metal against glass.

With a tilt of his head he turns directly at Scott.  Scott freezes when Stiles’ void yet lively eyes stare at him.  It’s as if he’s staring right into his soul.  He shudders and reminds himself that Stiles can’t see.  It’s probably his imagination.  He blinks once, twice, even rubs his eyes.

Stiles is still looking _at_ him.

The Sheriff can’t help but laugh, it’s loud and really contagious.  Melissa can’t help but join the ruckus although Scott simply stares around the table confused.

“He’s not looking _at_ you,” the Sheriff breathes, a giggle underneath his light voice.

“What?” Stiles asks his head titling just so.

Scott gapes in shock, “what the-“

“He’s simply following the noise,” his mom adds.

“But I didn’t make any noise!” Scott argues.

“Or the lack there of,” Stiles pipes.

Scott looks pained trying desperately to understand what Stiles means.

“I heard you eating to my left but you suddenly stopped, then I felt _someone_ staring at me.  The only human instinct is to locate that creepy feeling and look right back,” Stiles shrugs.

“Dude!”

Stiles swallows his laugh but it still escapes and Scott almost feels hurt until he realizes how content and relaxed Stiles is right now.

“You’re amazing,” he settles for.

Stiles beams at him and continues eating.  Scott does too, forgetting his mini heart attack.

When everyone finishes eating dinner Stiles stands, Scott look at him confused as he sees his friend maneuver through the kitchen with his cane.  The same cane from the first day they actually met.

It’s only when Stiles returns does he notice he has something balancing in hand.  He quickly rises from his seat and takes it from his hands.  He places the dish down and Stiles can’t help the small thankful smile that Scott still manages to catch.

“Can you take the cover off?”

Scott nods and remembers Stiles can’t see him, “sure.”

Stiles retakes his seat and places his shortened cane behind his chair hanging by the wrist strap.  Scott takes off the cover to reveal dessert.  It’s a three layer tiramisu cake with thin curved slices of dark chocolate on top dusted with a mix of cinnamon and finely ground coffee.  At the center in between the scattered chocolate he can see a perfectly carved milk chocolate rose.  Scott can practically smell the different flavors and it makes his mouth water at the pure sight.

“If I had more time I would have made something better,” Stiles mumbles.

Scott turns wide eyes at Stiles not believing what he’s heard.  His eyes land on the nimble fingers where he sees some covered in band aids.  Holy cow.

“Y-You made this?”

Even Melissa is at a loss of words.  The Sheriff’s sigh draws their attention.

“I told you it’s not my fault salmon cooks slower to get the flavor just right,” he argues.

“Oh, you made dinner and Stiles made dessert?  This…This looks amazing,” Melissa says in awe.

“Th-Thank you,” Stiles blushes.

“Dude!  You _can_ cook!” Scott whispers.

Stiles nods timidly now.  Underneath the table Scott takes Stiles hand and drains the residue pain from the cuts.  Stiles doesn’t understand why the small contact make his hands hurt less but he offers Scott a thankful shy smile.

“The knife slipped,” Stiles offers as explanation.

“A lot,” Scott smirks.

“A lot,” Stiles agrees embarrassed.

Scott chuckles and lets go when he knows Stiles won’t be in discomfort for the rest of the night.  He hadn’t even realized the band aids covering his friends’ fingers and he feels bad.  He had clearly worked hard to impress them.

After moaning in utter delight during dessert, they make their way to the living room.  Scott and Stiles crash on the couch and Scott takes this opportunity. 

He carefully leans in and whispers, “You didn’t have to do all that.”

“You didn’t like it?” Stiles frowns.

“I did but we’re friends now, you don’t have to try to impress me,” Scott corrects.

Stiles blushes profusely and nods a bit lost from being caught.

“Thanks,” he offers instead.

“Next time I’ll cook,” Scott assures.

Stiles nods until Melissa laughs.

“Run Stiles, Scott can’t cook for his life!”

“Hey!” Scott shouts offended.

“It’s true sweetie,” Melissa giggles.

“I can always ask Derek to teach me,” Scott pouts.

Stiles’ heart seems to stop or maybe it skips a beat when he hears that name.  So he does exist… he’s real.  Scott immediately faces him having heard the stutter of his friend’s heart.  The Sheriff doesn’t seem too pleased at the mention of that name and the animosity spikes.  Scott wants to whimper as well as defend his alpha not understanding the anger and _fear_ towards him.  Do they know?  Is that why they dislike Derek?

“I-I think I should go,” Scott says abruptly.

“Scott!” Melissa calls bewildered.

Stiles sits motionless, the space where Scott sat suddenly empty.  Was it something he said? 


	6. Wildfire

Chapter Six: Wildfire

Maybe he’s overreacting but his knee won’t stop bouncing no matter how many deep breaths he takes to calm his racing heart down.  Melissa looks at the anxious boy with saddened eyes as she places a warm hand on his fidgeting knee.  She’s tried to reassure Stiles that her son was mostly embarrassed and he was in no way at fault for Scott’s rude behavior.  Stiles doesn’t buy it.

“It was something I said, I just know it,” he mutters under his breath although it is heard perfectly clear.

“Sweetheart, if anything it was my fault for embarrassing him.  He’s just feeling mortified,” Melissa assures.

In reality she has no idea why her son reacted the way he did.

“Maybe I should get going and perhaps apologize, that boy was always sensitive,” Melissa sighs as she rises from her seat.

The Sheriff stands as well and leads her to the door after wishing the boy and his dad goodnight.  Scott was in so much trouble when he got home.  The wonderful dinner ruined and over in a terrible conclusion.

The Sheriff, who had been a bit quiet and rather miffed, finally stirred from his thoughts.  He had been sitting in his armchair for close to ten minutes since the departure of Mrs. McCall.  Now, finally reining his thought, the Sheriff gets up and slowly walks across the room to the cabinet he cautiously opens.  He retrieves a glass bottle of whiskey and a wineglass in which he pours the drink in.  Stiles’ nose twitches when the strong smell of alcohol reaches his nose.

“If he were a rational person he wouldn’t have bolted, guess that happens when hanging around the wrong crowd,” the Sheriff grumbles.

“Dad,” he glares rather frustrated, he doesn’t need to hear his dad insulting the only friend he has.

“It’s true,” his dad argues.

Stiles bites his lip and thinks about it.  It can be true since he doesn’t really know this Derek; yet again he doesn’t know Scott either.  His dad, however, is adamant in believing that Derek Hale is a bad influence.

“Dad?”

“Yes Stiles?”

“Who is Derek?”

His dad takes a long suffering sigh and gulps his drink.  Stiles looks rather disapproving but doesn’t comment.  If he wants his dad to spill, he has to be on his good graces even if it means letting his old man drink.

“To be honest?  I don’t know m’self,” the Sheriff replies sincerely.

Stiles tilts his head confused at his dad’s admission.  Why would he hold resentment against a man he doesn’t really know?  Of course the Sheriff would never truly admit that the real reason is because Derek Hale had taken his son away from him the first day they arrived.  Although he was reassured by Talia Hale, the fact that his son was missing even temporarily caused the Sheriff to be on edge.  Stiles is everything he has left and if he were to just disappear like a few days ago, the Sheriff would admittedly go insane.

“I trust Scott, he looks like a nice fella.  I just don’t want you to end up in the wrong crowd,” the Sheriff stresses.

Stiles can’t help but grin as he stands from his seat.  The Sheriff places his empty glass on the coffee table and approaches his son.  Stiles grasps his dad’s hands, the smile ever present.

“My dad is the sheriff, I think I know right from wrong,” Stiles assures.

A resounding bark from Ebony supports his owner’s claim.

“I trust you Stiles, I do,” the Sheriff vows, it’s just the others he doesn’t.

“I know dad, but remember, don’t judge a book by its cover.  Who was the one that always said that? Huh?  What happened to that now?”

The Sheriff smiles, “you’re right.”

“I always am,” Stiles gloats in agreement.

The Sheriff’s chuckle is lighthearted and he makes a mental note to apologize to the poor boy even though he won’t know why he even is apologizing.  Stiles counts tonight as a win and gladly leaves when his dad gives him a gentle push on the back.  Ebony trails behind Stiles as they make their way upstairs.  The young boy still can’t get Derek out of his head.

* * *

“Scott?”

“Isaac!” Scott exclaims in relief.

Isaac looks at the teen before him with furrowed brows.  It’s Sunday and although they were supposed to hang out, Scott had cancelled after receiving the call from the new kid in town last night.  Which is why he’s confused as to why Scott is standing in his bedroom.  Naked.

“Sorry, I shifted,” Scott says as a means to explain his nakedness.

“What happened?”  Isaac questions concerned as he hands Scott the spare clothes he usually keeps there.

“Nothing,” Scott replies nonchalantly.

It’s a blatant lie that Isaac glares at.  Scott slightly cowers at the glower and tries to appease the curly haired boy.  After changing, although his t-shirt is backwards, Scott settles on the bed and pats the space next to him.  Isaac, who had his arms crossed over his chest, slowly approaches the bed and sits down where Scott indicated.  The mattress sinks under his lightweight and he waits silently for Scott to say something, to explain why he’s here instead of at dinner.  He would never admit that he’s somewhat relieved that Scott showed up although it makes him feel apprehension at what’s to come.  Was the new kid a hunter?  Did they threaten Scott?

“I think he knows,” Scott whispers at last.

Isaac looks at Scott with furrowed brows and patiently stares at Scott, waiting for him to elaborate.

“I mentioned Derek’s name and Stiles kind of freaked, even his dad looked livid although I’m probably exaggerating,” Scott adds.

“So you think he knows about… us?”

“I don’t know, his heart skipped a beat and everything,” the boy sighs.

“His heart skipped a beat at the mention of Derek’s name?  Could it be love?” Isaac jokes.

Scott, the innocent ever pup he is, turns to face Isaac with wide eyes.  Isaac momentarily smacks his forehead because everything he says Scott takes seriously.  If this, leaks out to the others, their pack members would certainly start plotting against Derek, his status as their alpha be damned.

“Imagine what Erica would do if she found out our suspicion,” Isaac whispers almost horrified.

“Maybe I should’ve analyzed the situation more.  If I’m being honest, Derek is right when he mentioned that whenever the going gets tough I run,” Scott says defeated finally realizing Isaac’s rare sarcasm.

“Erica thinks Stiles seems nice,” Isaac comments sometime later rather honestly.

Both boys are now lying on the small bed.  Isaac’s curly head rests on the rising and falling chest of the boy beneath him.  Scott can’t help but play with the twirls, his soft breathing almost lulling the other boy on top of him to sleep.

“Remember what happened to the pack before we became a part of it?” Scott reminds.

“Those were just rumors,” Isaac rolls his eyes.

“They tricked the former alpha and nearly killed the Hale pack,” Scott growls.

Isaac places a placating hand on the boy’s unusually warm skin before pressing a kiss to the chest before him.

“You said so yourself, Stiles is different and kind.  If he knows about us then confront him and work it out.  If by chance it turns out he’s a bloodthirsty killer, then we fight as a family.  But if he truly likes Derek, we kidnap them both and lock them in a closet,” Isaac whispers soothingly.

“I don’t think Stiles is a bloodthirsty killer,” Scott mumbles honestly ignoring the last part but a smile threatening to escape at the devious plan.

“Erica will have so much fun,” the younger boy giggles.

“I don’t even know if Stiles goes _that_ way,” Scott sighs secretly hoping he does because ever since Derek’s encounter with Stiles, their alpha has been much more contented.

Isaac smirks and pats the boy’s shoulder before muttering a soft, “Go to sleep.”

* * *

 

Derek watches as the boy’s chest on the too big bed, rises and falls.  He can’t help but watch over the boy he barely met three days ago.  He knows Scott’s uncertainty as he unintentionally overheard the conversation between his betas.  He muffles the soft snort of amusement that escapes him.  The sleeping boy before him could never hurt a fly and to think Stiles could be a hunter is rather hilarious.

However, he knows Scott is right.  It is best to be wary of others than to fall victim to a tragedy that could’ve been prevented.  Rumors are easily spread like wildfire but no one really knows the truth.  Soundless, Derek takes a seat on the floor, his back pressed to the bed.  The soft beating of the human’s heart fills his ears and he closes his eyes.

Ebony, the ever trusting mutt, approaches him although he’s no longer wary, such irony.  Derek smiles at that.  He’s not so fond of the dog but he lets him place his giant furry head on his lap.  With gentle fingers, he tangles them in soft fur and pets the mutt quietly.  He never sleeps and he never stays long when he watches over Stiles.  He merely checks in on the boy to make sure he doesn’t breakdown because Derek knows.  He knows better than anyone else the fabricated lies Stiles has spun.

He can practically choke on the grief and sorrow the boy carries on his shoulders every day.  It’s suffocating and it’s a wonder Stiles can still smile through the day and live as if nothing has happened.  His mom had told him what happened, what made the Sheriff and his son run away from Beacon Hills.  It’s the same reason Stiles has to live through now that they're back.

Derek leans his head back, the boy’s breath tickles his head and he chuckles under his breath before turning around sitting criss crossed.  His callous hand runs over the buzz cut hair and it scratches his hand lightly.  Stiles, feeling warmth radiating from a nearby body, snuggles deeper in his blanket.  A soft sigh of content escapes his dry lips.

Inexplicable pain makes Derek flinch and he takes his hand away from Stiles head.  The boy’s brow furrows confused but he’s too tired to investigate why his headache was suddenly gone only to return rather viciously.  Derek’s chest heaves and he stares in alarm at the immense headache Stiles has.  He places his hand on top of the boy’s head again and drains the pain away.  He grunts as the all-consuming pain Stiles feels filters through his own body.  Black veins runs through his arm and he closes his eyes, his head throbbing.  He only feels a portion of the person’s pain he drains from but he doesn’t do it often enough to get used to it.

It’s probably the reason why it leaves him breathless when he breaks the brief connection.  He leans over and presses a kiss to Stiles’ forehead.  His scruff makes Stiles huff and recoil in his small nest.  Ebony having been disturbed from his attempted sleep nibbles at Derek’s unsuspecting fingers and yaps annoyed.  Derek smiles and hushes the mutt that he’s slowly coming to terms with.

He settles back down on the floor and pats his lap for Ebony to lie on.  The overgrown pup cuddles into his side and the wolf smiles brightly showing canines.  Ebony barks and Derek slaps a hand over his snout as to not rouse Stiles.  Understanding dawns on the clever mutt making him roll his eyes and settle in for the night.  Derek pats his furry head and in a few hours, just before the sun rises and long before the moon dips in the gleams' wake, Derek is gone.

Ebony rises from his sleep and nudges his master impatiently.  Stiles swats his hand at the dog and rolls over trying to ignore him in desperate need for sleep.  He hasn’t had such a great slumber since they arrived.  Ebony barks and Stiles gives up on sleeping entirely.

“Fine, fine I’m up already,” Stiles mumbles as he pets behind Ebony’s fluffy ear.

Ebony barks excitedly making Stiles smile, “Maybe I can call Scott and apologize.”

Ebony yips in agreement and drags his leash to his master’s open palm.  Stiles can’t help but laugh wholeheartedly as he rolls his eyes.

“Okay we’ll go for a walk first,” Stiles smiles.


	7. A Walk, An Apology

Chapter Seven: A Walk, An Apology

Stiles is careful as he takes the first step out his house.  He begins counting in his head as his hand grips the leash tightly.  He’s nervous, his stomach flops and he swallows thickly.  His palms are clammy, sweaty and trembling.  His cane shakes and he feels it as it scrapes against the concrete of the sidewalk.  The humid air fills his lungs as he tries to calm his racing heart.

He hears the occasional car passing by every thirty counts or so.  When he hears Ebony bark he knows what he wants.  He digs through his bag and pulls out the familiar furry ball and launches it some distance.  He hears it bounce and when it touches the ground, Stiles let’s Ebony go.  Ebony barks excitedly and retrieves the ball, setting it in his master’s outstretched hand again.  Time passes slowly and there’s an empty ache in his chest.  He remembers, at least vaguely recalls, a park he used to visit before his mom got sick.  The grass was green, the skies were crystal blue, and the clouds so fluffy.  He lost the concept of colors, of happiness.  The small smile fades from his dry lips which he licks.  He takes a deep breath but realizes he doesn’t remember what count he’s in.  At every corner he restarts so he won’t have this problem but the bittersweet distraction has jumbled the numbers in his mind.  He turns around trying to decipher where he is but he can’t see anything.  Nothing is familiar.

He digs through his pocket and pulls out his phone.  He debates on calling his dad but he knows that he’s busy at the station and he doesn’t want to be the burden he’s aware he is.  No matter how much his dad reassures him, Stiles will always feel like extra baggage.  His father can’t live the life he wants because of him and it leaves him with a bitter taste.  A tear of frustration at his own stupidity rolls down his cheek and he wipes it away angrily.

A lightweight settles on his shoulder and he’s startled.  He looks around seemingly lost and somewhat afraid on who would even think to approach him.

“Stiles,” a warm voice says.

A low growl from Ebony interrupts him but Stiles recognizes that voice anywhere.

“Scott,” he breathes in relief.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“I… No, not really,” Stiles admits.

Scott looks pensively and he carefully leads Stiles to a nearby bench.  He briefly wonders how Stiles managed to reach the park but brushes it away.  Instead he wants to know why Stiles has the scent of sadness and self-loathing.

“What’s wrong?”  Scott asks.

“Not to be rude but… I don’t like it here,” Stiles replies honestly.

“Do you miss home?” Scott questions softly.

A soft hollow laugh escapes Stiles, “I stopped knowing what home was years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Scott whispers.

“No, I should apologize,” Stiles shakes his head.

“Why?  You haven’t done anything.”

“You left in a rush, I figured I offended you.  I really didn’t mean it, I d-don’t know what I said but I didn’t mean it.  I’m sorry,” Stiles rushes in a single breath.

Scott’s brows furrow until he remembers the night before and how rudely he left Stiles’ home.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong it’s just… Just…”  Scott doesn’t know how much he should reveal.

“Scott?”

“I was embarrassed,” he admits.

It isn’t a lie but it isn’t the truth either.  He had vaguely heard his mom’s weak explanation of his abrupt parting.  He can play off of that.  He feels stupid but Stiles’ lips twitch and a smile curves them up.  It’s a small appreciated smile and Scott can’t help but smile like a goof himself. 

“I can always show you how to cook,” the younger teen offers.

Scott chuckles, “honestly I don’t think I will ever learn or be as good as you.”

“I’m not that good,” Stiles shrugs.

“Dude, dessert was amazing!  It was, just, awesome!”

“Thanks," he blushes. 

They joke around for a bit before Ebony demands attention and despite Ebony’s clear displeasure at Scott's company, his master is happy and that’s all that matters.  So he sucks it up and begs for the pair to play with him.  Scott reluctantly agrees as he picks up the tennis ball and throws it far, but not too far.  Ebony barks and gives chase.  Scott looks at the dog and he feels something light settle in his heart.  Who knew that the dog’s acceptance meant so much to him?

He turns to look at his new friend and finds him looking amused with a faraway look in his eyes.  Beyond the well placed mask Scott sees a haunted look of hurt in those dull whiskey eyes.  It’s crazy how in such a short time Scott can tell Stiles’ quirks as if he’s known the boy since forever.

“Stiles,” he calls.

Stiles snaps from his thoughts and softly says, “I’m happy.  Despite all of the pain I’ve been through… I’m happy because in the darkness I find people who care and it’s so hard to come by that, to come by someone who can truly understand or at least take the time to _try_ and understand.  You know?”

Scott nods, because he does.  He understands, “Yeah.”

He didn’t fit in, had no one and then he met the Hales.  And they were kind despite their outward appearance and attitude.  Then they took him as one of their own when he was bitten.  They protected him and helped him understand that he wasn’t a monster, that he was just a bit stronger.  But that strength didn’t mean he was above anyone.

“I do,” he whispers.

Stiles smiles at him and slings an arm over his shoulders.  Ebony shows up sprinting toward them and dropping the ball with a happy bark.  Scott chuckles and is surprised when his hand isn’t bitten for ruffling the soft fur.  There’s a glint of recognition in Ebony’s bright eyes, a contrast to Stiles, and although Scott is a bit confused by the dog’s behavior he commits every moment to memory, as does Stiles.

He’s just about to break the silence when someone yells his name.  “McCall!”

Stiles tenses beside him and Scott sighs.  Great.

“Hey Erica,” he greets.

“Hey yourself, where have you been?” She asks as she looks at Stiles.

Stiles tilts his head toward her direction but doesn’t say anything.  He simply bites his lip nervously as Scott talks to this Erica persona.

“I’ve been spending time with my friend,” Scott replies nonchalantly.

And he smiles when Stiles’ heart skips a beat in excitement.

“Well hey there stranger,” Erica smiles.

Stiles hears the smack of gum popping and he gives her a shy wave.

“I’m Erica Reyes, what’s your name?” She asks.

“S-Stiles Stilinski,” he answers.

“Hey there kiddo,” Erica says, “sheriff’s kid right?”

“Yeah,” Stiles frown.

“Then I guess you wouldn’t wanna break any laws with me?”  She smirks.

“W-What?” Stiles stammers.

“Relax sweetie,” she coos, “I was gonna ask McCall if he wanted to come watch a movie but honestly, between us, you’re the prettier one.”

Stiles’ eyes widen and Scott groans.

“What do you say handsome?  You up for a move?”

“I-I have homework,” Stiles whispers as a weak attempt to avoid socializing.

“But it’s summer,” she points out.

“Yes, and we have summer homework, the packets they give us at the end of the year,” Scott butts in.

“Ohh that,” she hums, “I’m sure you can finish it some other time.  Com’on, please?”

“Erica,” Scott warns.

“Shut it McCall,” she glares.

“You’ve been hanging out with jackass Jackson for too long,” Scott hisses.

“I’ve been hanging out with my man much more than you or Jackson.  You’re just jelly because you can’t get any,” Erica taunts.

Scott rolls his eyes but he notices the small amused smile Stiles tries to hide.

“Maybe we should go,” Scott suggests.

“Not until I get a yes out of Stiles,” Erica interrupts.

“I…”

“Leave ‘im alone,” Scott glares.

“Com’on, it’s just a movie.”

“A movie he can’t _watch_ ,” Scott stresses frustrated.

 He didn’t mean it in a bad way but the smell of sadness rolls off of Stiles' tense shoulders in waves.  Stiles knows he’s a freak, a person who isn’t normal because he can’t see.  He knows he can’t do much of anything.  He can’t read or watch movies or TV.  He can’t ride a bike or drive.  He can’t do anything.  Erica’s mouth is a perfect “o”.   She finally realizes her insensitivity too late and now Scott feels like a douche.  A small whine escapes his throat.

“Stiles,” he starts.

“No, you’re right.  Thanks Erica but as Scott has said, I can’t really watch a movie.  I’d just be uncomfortable and make everyone feel awkward,” Stiles shrugs with a sad smile.

Erica looks at Stiles and her heart clenches at the sight of tears the boy is desperately trying to hold back.

She scribbles something on a piece of paper before slipping it in Stiles’ hands.

“Have someone read it to you.  It’s my address and instructions on how to get there.  We’ll pick out a movie, any movie you want, maybe one you’ve read through braille.  I’ll be waiting for you and we’ll watch that movie together, or you know, listen to it,” Erica says sternly.

Stiles gives her a watery smile and she hugs him tight, scent marking him.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“Yes,” Stiles nods.

Erica smacks Scott’s head as she saunters away from the pair.

Scott rubs at the sore spot before turning to Stiles.

“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely.

“I know, people aren’t used to blind people and I appreciate your concern.  Thanks Scotty,” Stiles smiles at him and shoves his shoulder lightly.

“Alright, let’s go.  You’ll want to get ready for movie night with Erica,” Scott says.

“You’re going too right?”

“Yeah, don’t worry they’ll love you,” Scott assures.

“They?  Who’s they?”  Stiles asks.

All he hears is Scott’s muffled laughter and Ebony’s happy yips.

“Scott?  Who’s they?!”


	8. Our Movie Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm late... sorry?

Chapter Eight: Our Movie Night

His heart is beating loudly and his hands are sweaty. He feels nervous and there's a constant flush on his cheeks. He feels warm and he's debating of not going even if Scott will be beside him. He doesn't know Erica or anyone who will be at movie night. They're Scott's friends and he doesn't want to impose, he already feels out of place. An outsider. A light knock snaps him from his thoughts and he takes a deep calming breath.

"Stiles?"

"Hey," Stiles smiles nervously.

"Ready?" Scott asks.

He bites his lip and silently wonders if he's ready. He decides that no, he's not ready to meet new people. He's scared and afraid. His hands tremble and his heart beats over a mile a minute in his chest as he shakes his head.

"Stiles?" Scott asks concerned.

"I'm not ready. Oh my God I'm not!" Stiles panics.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Scott questions as he grips Stiles' biceps and leads him to the couch.

"Look, I'm not really interesting. I like listening to super hero movies, maybe a marathon of Doctor Who, Sherlock- BBC version mind you- but nothing that's really interesting. I like Star Wars, I used to wish I were a jedi and use the force! I flail when I'm excited, I didn't really have much friends before. I only had two, maybe three friends then. I'm blind! Practically useless, I'm also a spaz if that wasn't bad enough. I shouldn't go, they're your friends and I'd make them uncomfortable..." Stiles breathes heavily as he faces the ground, his scent clouded in sadness and drenched in embarrassment.

"Stiles," Scott calls sternly, his hand tilting Stiles face toward him so Stiles is aware he's serious, "you're being an idiot."

"I was hoping for a nerd approach, in fact, I prefer that term, hard core nerd," Stiles states in an attempt of humor.

"Stiles, you're my friend and Erica is smitten with you and I'm kind of scared you'll steal my friends because you're that amazing, they'll love you," Scott assures.

Stiles takes a deep and nods, "Okay just... Okay, okay let's go before I change my mind."

Scott smiles as he takes Stiles's hand. They walk in silence hand in hand, Scott had to tell a white lie, claiming that at least one of the pack members was allergic to dogs so Ebony wasn't joining them and for the remained of the day Scott is his guide. Stiles's hand is clammy and trembling, his leg tapping impatiently as they hear the doorbell ring. Honestly, Scott didn't need to press the button but that would make the pack seem creepy and eagerly expectant.

The door opens, Erica clearing her throat a bit, "Hey Stiles."

"H-Hey Erica," he mumbles shyly.

Erica bites her lip to stop from cooing at Stiles cuteness.

"Come on in," She invites warmly.

Scott leads the way inside. Stiles can hear people chatting and as soon as they step inside the room everyone quiets down. Stiles takes a deep breathing, swallowing thickly his nerves.

"Hi," He greets.

And suddenly the room is filld with noise, people rushing up to him, greeting him personally, hugging him!

"Stiles right?" A soft male voice asks like an excited puppy.

"Y-Yes," Stiles nods, his question trailing.

"Isaac," the teen introduces.

"Back off future McCall!" Someone calls out.

"Future... McCall?" Stiles repeats.

Everyone sort of stops and Scott turns a dark shade of red. Isaac takes a step back. He's known many who are homophobic, many who don't understand and resort to verbal or physical abuse, sometimes both. A small whine escapes his lips, Erica said Stiles is awesome after one meeting and Scott is absolutely smitten but no one really knows who he is.

And then a small smile twitches at he teen's lips. Isaac stares wide eyed at the teen who gasps a giggle before turning red with laughter.

"Uhh, did we break him?" Someone asks.

"Oh God no! Sorry, the room got all tense and everything sorry just, Scott no wonder," Stiles breathes.

"No, no don't say it," Scott warns in embarrassment.

"He's trying to learn how to cook, maybe make a romantic dinner with candles," Stiles winks.

Everyone stares amazed at the teen who laughed with his who body only to give acceptance with no questions asked. And then the chatter begins again. Many integrate Stiles like he's family, like he belongs. Scott could be heard talking to Isaac, still heated after that encounter. Stiles lays his head on Scott's knee as he sits on the floor criss-cross.

There are six people present and only two are avoiding him. He can feel their stares, one more venomous than the other. He chooses to ignore them because right now, in this moment, he's accepted and it's the only thing he wants. He gets up when Erica does and follows her to the kitchen. Erica knows she's being followed but remains quiet as Stiles stands at a stop in the middle of the kitchen with nothing to hold on to.

"D-Do you need help? Can I help in something?" He asks timidly.

" 'Course you can, I was just gonna make popcorn and open bags of chips," Erica replies, carefully leading Stiles to sit at the table.

"This isn't your house right?"

Erica is ready to say something, to retort the contrary, but she finds herself asking, "How do you know?"

"There are things, small but important, that feel like they don't belong in a teen's home, a pile of books, heavy reading by the thickness of each, and scattered CDs. Then there's the faint smell of cologne around the house, as if an older man lived here instead," he explains.

"Wow," Boyd says as he approaches them.

"Boyd?"

"Yeah, that was amazing. You deducted all that from just walking here? How were you so sure it wasn't me, Isaac, or Jackson's cologne."

"Well, because I was close to you and Isaac and the smell permeating the room wasn't intensified or on you, and Jackson is posh, his cologne is more expensive and stronger. That, I could smell from where I sat but like I said, it doesn't match what's already here," Stiles shrugs.

"You're amazing Batman," Erica smirks.

"Thanks," Stiles blushes.

The room had fallen silent again and the door could be heard being slammed, "Sorry Erica. We're clearly not wanted here so Jackson and I are leaving. Have fun with your new friend. It was nice to meet you, Stiles."

Maybe it was jelousy or because it was a rushed explanation, but Stiles could hear that she wasn't quiet genuine in her statement.

He looks down as if staring at his hands and quietly asks, "Did I ruin something?"

"What? No! They've always been like that, since we met them actually," Isaac replies.

"Yeah, don't worry about them," Scott smiles, lightly touching his arm.

"Okay boys, go choose a few movies I'll do the cooking," Erica smiles.

"Don't burn down the loft!"

"Out!" She calls back.

Many grimace at the noise Erica begins making but Stiles is oblivious as he talks with Isaac about the movies.

"We bought this one but it looks like no one has even opened the case," Isaac adds.

"What's it called?" Stiles asks.

"It's a Harry Potter movie I think."

"Can we watch it?"

"Sure, never seen it," he shrugs.

"What? How could you not?"

As Isaac is about to reply the door opens. Stiles is too entertained explaning the beauty of the wizarding world to pay attention.

"When you said you'd watch a movie I didn't expect it to be in my loft," the person interrupts.

Stiles stops talking and his heart skips a beat as he turns scarlet. His scent changes into something sweet, sweet like golden honey.

The werewolves look toward the teen and they see the red trailing up his ears.

"Oh my god you like Derek!" Isaac whispers although everyone can hear him.

"What?" He squeaks.

In a flurry of embarrassing events, somehow Stiles ends up on the couch with Derek-fucking-Hale right next to him, their thighs barely touching.

When the movie starts Stiles closes his eyes with a small pleased smile. He can just picture the magic, the bright colors he's forgotten. And then his heart slows and his breathing evens as he rests his head on Derek's shoulder just as the movie ends. Subconsciously, Derek wraps his arm around Stiles's lithe body, his head resting on soft hair, breathing that sweet smell with the faint scent of medication that can only be Stiles.

"We'll leave you lovebirds alone," Erica smirks.

Derek rolls his eyes but nods as his pack piles out of his room in a daze of contentment, pack, family, home.

"Stiles," Derek shakes him gently.

"Hm?" He moans tiredly.

"Movie's over," he whispers.

"Don't want to leave," Stiles mumbles.

Derek huffs, a small smile on his lips, "Alright."

He carries Stiles toward his room and gently places him on the bed. As soon as he lays beside him Stiles curls close to him, his head resting on Derek's chest, over his heart.

"What am I feeling?" Stiles questions, seemingly talking in his sleep.

Derek doesn't answer because he doesn't know. He doesn't know what either of then are feeling because this, this is something new.

"Sleep," he replies.

He watches over Stiles, his instinct to hold and protect finally quiet. His wolf purrs contently in his being as he closes his eyes and falls asleep. He's lulled into a deep sleep, one he hasn't had in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


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